


A Productive Session

by theotherdesanta



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M, Michael finally comes out with it, Therapy, god damn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherdesanta/pseuds/theotherdesanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael finally spills his guts to a more understanding and less money concerned therapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Productive Session

**Author's Note:**

> Blacked out for an hour and when I came to this puppy was on my screen. Guess Michael wanted to write this in his own words.

The fuck do I begin? Well, phewww, here it goes. Oh Jesus this is gonna sound so stupid.  
T...T is one'a those guys you just can't get your head around. He's....an enigma, the definition of a human fuckin' enigma. You dunno what the fuck he is but you know you want a piece of what it is he's got, which in his case is numourous drug and trafficing offences plus the body riddled in S.T.D's. Fuck man...that body. I'm getting' ahead of myself here.  
The deal is...he's got none. Trevor's got no deal, however, carries this beef with the universe around him, somethin' to do with his childhood and past events, I don't really have the stomach nor the thinkin' capacity to go into detail bout that.  
All I can say is, guy had it rough, no pun intended. Seriously don't laugh because when he looks you in the eye and goes on about all the shit that he went through as a kid that smug shit eatin' grin is gonna be wiped clean off your face.  
So tragic he finds it hilarious...on a good day. Bunch'a dads, foster homes, deranged tulip of a mother he rarely ever sees less it's through the glass of a whiskey bottle. Yeaaahhh, that's another thing about Trevor...you wanna pity him, but chur too afraid to do it in his presence because you're terrified that if he ever caught you wearing a sympathetic stare he'd rip out your corneas and eat them right in front of yah. Or feed them to the coyotes. Both perhaps. Made that mistake a little too often, myself. Hah, impossible to not wanna just...reach out and...ask him how he's doing. Pat him on the shoulder and say “Hey man, things good? Need anythin'?” Course he'd just shrug you off and take a drag of whatever brand of smokes he had in his jacket, sometimes it won't even be a cigar, just some gross ass paper tube he's stuffed some dope in and huffs it like nobody's watchin'. Cops don't even try to cuff him for it, they ain't got the balls and frankly, it's better he's standin' there with his head in the clouds than killin' some poor fucker whose problem was sayin' “Hello”.  
I...I do try to...get him onto somethin' a little less...I've givin' him medically prescribed Majorana on occasion, the damage rate is tolerably short and patients come off better for it. Just gives them what they need to get themselves goin'. If a doctor's willin' to advertise...why should we say no? Mean I don't do it but I'ma...I'm not into that whole drug scene no more. Ain't touched a doobie since I was twenty-five. Quit after my daughter was born, secondhand smoke and all that.  
I—I'm here because...I wanna talk myself out of this mess before it consumes what's left of my happiness, convinces me I don't deserve to do what it is I'm tryin' to do to get things on the right track. The right path.  
Almost three decades...almost a life time of looking your reflection in the eye and lying straight to their face is...is not what someone in my...position...should be doin'. Someone like me has got to accept the matter at hand and do what they can to make the best of what they got, of what they can achieve. A person's time on this earth ain't all that much so...stead of wastin' it, you gotta get out there. Live it while you got the mobility and stamina to do that.  
I did what most guys do, well, what society thinks guys should do. Especially...sharing my...situation.  
Lived wild, lived free, fucked everything with a nice pair of tits and then settled down but had fun on the side when things got boring, dry. Had the money and the lack of appreciation for things so...nothing to really stop me. Cept...one thing, I guess. That's a big assumption, it didn't really stop me but it offered a fresh perspective of what I could be having compared to what I currently had in front of me. You know....handed me a looking-glass and said “That can be you! Stop fuckin' around and take it”. Kinda ironic. I saw myself married to a guy and then wound up stickin' my cock in a chick and goin' on the lam with her under my arm. Well, under my arm with her hand in my wallet. Fuck me, thinking back...I should'a taken the shot and just ran, grabbed his hand and left the cold shit tip for somewhere warmer. More fuckin' pleasant. But I screwed up, didn't I? Threw it all away on some dame I barely knew and the torn condom my foolish repressed ass brain told me would hold up if I just pulled out before burstin' a nut. Twenty-five years we could'a spent together, could'a been happy, kinda doubt it but would'a been better than what we got now. He still don't trust me, still don't got faith and who can blame him, I was a fuckin' prick who thought he could have it all if he just made a couple white lies. But they weren't lies, were they, doc? I traded somethin' good, somethin' real for...THIS. For a big house in Vinewood when I could be living in god damn Liberty City where we said we was gonna go. Rent a crappy penthouse and disturb the neighbours with loud over the top, floor rattlin' sex cus that's what you do when you got that kinda money. Make everybody else miserable but have the time of your own fuckin' life because you have the golden ticket...You get out...be happy, be normal. That was our normal, that can still be our normal...but here I am spillin' my guts to you because I'm ninety percent fuckin' sure he's gonna turn me down and walk away, tell me I had my chance and it's passed me by so I gotta stay here and talk to you until I'm in the ground, put there because Mommy's decided it's time to pour arsenic in Daddy's cuppa coffee or the balcony was so beautiful when Michael opened the curtains this morning he felt like jumping off of it, or because the gun in Michael's deposit box was calling out to him so he thought “Hey nice day to blow my god damn brains out!”. I'm sorry, doc....it's just getting' too much for me. I-I can't stop thinkin' about him. About Us. I'm scared he's gonna shoot me down and yeah I deserve it for everything that's happened between now and then but....oh god, I just wanna be happy. Am I not allowed to ask whatever fuckin' almighty being is sittin' above our heads, for a break? For...one moment where...everybody gets what they want? Including me? Nah, this is bullshit. I'm sorry I wasted your time, just had to get the weight off my chest. I'll...I'll be seeing you, Doc. Thanks for today. You didn't have to pencil me in but you did it anyway. Be sure to write you up for that five grand--

“You do deserve it, Michael. A break.You're very right. I'm going to book You and Trevor into my office for a couples session. I wish to be there when you confess to him everything you've said to me. Be here bright and early so we can get started. Is Thursday alright with the both of you?” 

…....I'll make it alright.


End file.
